


Ladybird is (Not) a Euphemism

by Xanoka



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: AU Yeah AUgust (Miraculous Ladybug), Adrien Agreste rebels - thank god, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Drunk Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, F/M, I Tried, I channel Georgette Heyer basically, Love at First Sight, Period-Typical Sexism, Regency, Regency Romance, Secret Identity, Write Like Jane Austen, because masks, but there are probably historical inaccuracies, masquerade balls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 11:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15863127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanoka/pseuds/Xanoka
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that a Masquerade Ball is far too disreputable an event for a Young Man of Character and Breeding to attend.Adrien is determined to go anyway.In which Adrien meets a Ladybird, becomes acquainted with alcohol and falls in love. Not in that order.OR,Ladybird (British English for ladybug) is also Regency Slang for prostitute. There is a lot of scope for Mistaken Identity tropes and Mills and Boon/Harlequin style shenanigans, just saying.





	Ladybird is (Not) a Euphemism

**Author's Note:**

> I am a HUGE Georgette Heyer fan and I've been dying to write a Regency AU in her style for aaages. I literally started this two years ago, so thank you AU Yeah AUgust for motivating me to finally finish! Yaaaay! Apologies for any research fails, I am not an expert! I may rewrite this one day, but, for now, for AUgust, here it is! :)
> 
> Also, see below for Regency Lingo!

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a Masquerade Ball is far too disreputable an event for a Young Man of Character and Breeding to attend.

Such was the Conviction of Mr. Agreste, a Gentleman of considerable Fortune and the Father of one such Young Man.  It was an Opinion formed and firmly held in complete disregard to those of his son.

A Son he might have been proud to boast of, had he the inclination or the interest.   His Child was Obedient and Dutiful in all things. Under his father’s quelling influence, he had resisted all the calls of Frivolity and Fashion made upon the Younger Set.  Rather, he upheld at all times the Seemly Fashion and Decorous Appearance and Behaviour of a True Gentleman.

Such was the confirmed opinion and belief of Mr. Gabriel Agreste.

Therefore, the Reader may imagine, his surprise would have been considerable had he beheld the sight of Adrien Agreste, Paragon of Filiality, escaping from his bedroom in the Dead of Night.  With agility betraying much practice, his Only Child swung himself from his window into the waiting boughs of a nearby tree, and from there to the ground.

Given his son’s carefully controlled athletic pursuits, limited to fencing and horsemanship, this in itself might have shaken Mr. Agreste’s confidence in his former assertions.

Had he been privileged to know his son’s intentions, he would have repudiated them completely.

For, Liberated from Parental Tyranny by the Cloak of Evening and Paternal Ignorance, Young Mr. Agreste was Bound and Determined to experience the reportedly licentious and certainly unsupervised delights of a Masquerade Ball.

In tribute to his own Spirit of Adventure and Mystery, he had elected to dress almost exclusively in black, save for a white shirt and cravat, from the breeches his Father would have considered deplorably form fitting, to the Opera Cloak and Mask he wore in Honour of the Occasion.

He believed he cut a very fine figure, as he scaled the wall dividing the street from his family property.  And he continued unchallenged in that belief as he swung his silver handled cane and sauntered to the corner of the street to hail a cab.

He was not to be disappointed, and in short order – though to him it seemed an eternity – he was deposited before the entrance of the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, which hosted the event.

Given the lateness of the hour, the festivities had sufficiently advanced to impress the late arrival with the fulfilment of all his wildest dreams.

Music spilled and soaked the air, accompanied by laughter and conversation. The night was balmy, and lamps lit the way down a wending path towards an impromptu ballroom, glowing, it seemed, with good cheer as much as torchlight. 

By comparison, the rest of the park seemed dark, and, indeed, as he made his approach Adrien could not fail to hear telltale rustles of clothing and snatches of whispered conversations that caused his face to burn.

A disreputable place,  _ indeed _ .

However, such considerations were thrust from his mind when he finally reached the edge of the improvised dance floor.

Everywhere he looked were costumes and masks from every era and culture he could imagine. Animals. Monsters. Opera. Domino. All were present in a spectacular array of ever shifting finery. 

The young Agreste had chosen for himself a simple domino mask, black, like the rest of his attire, with pointed tips, like the ears of a cat. He had been very pleased with it at home, but here, amidst such a riot of colour, he felt himself sadly drab.  What had been elegant simplicity now seemed plain and the striking, nay, _romantic_ darkness of his apparel was nothing more than the cloud of his Father’s Disapproval.

As he hesitated, a sudden movement drew his attention. How it endeavoured to do so was impossible to say, amidst the constant motion before him; had he the leisure to reflect he would have surely named it Destiny. As it was, a flash of red caught his eye, no more than an impression of the colour, dotted with large black spots.  

He stepped forward unwittingly and was instantly drawn into the current of the crowd. The Lady was lost to view, but the Agreste Family were nothing if not determined. They had escaped The Terror and rebuilt their Fortune in England, after all.  

So Adrien sidestepped a portly gentleman in unfortunate mustard pinstripes and neatly (if not politely) imposed himself between a pair of women wearing peacock masks and was rewarded for his efforts. This time, he was honoured with a glimpse of a face, framed by dark hair and turned in his direction, with the bluest eyes he had ever been privileged to see, not quite obscured by the red and black dotted domino mask she wore.

And they appeared to be addressing him silently, piercing his very Soul. 

Adrien could not blink. He felt a peculiar sensation, like his heart had been squeezed and his stomach thrown at the same moment. His breath shuddered out of him and he opened his mouth to speak.

And then a young man staggered forward, impelled by hands or alcohol, Adrien could not say, and stumbled into his shoulder.

“I beg your pardon,” he said breathlessly, once he had recovered himself. Agreste disclaimed any need for apologies unthinkingly.

“I insist, I really must apologise. A fine greeting I have given you! Are you quite well, Mr. - ?”

“Chat,” Adrien supplied distractedly, having already decided on a pseudonym. He attempted to lean surreptitiously, but the Mysterious Lady had already vanished. Resigned, he redirected his attention to the Thwarter of his Hopes.  “I am M. Chat this evening.”

The young man’s eyes lit with a warm smile. He was himself wearing a light blue opera mask outlined in black around the eyes that complimented his blue coat and red waistcoat.

“So I see,” he agreed amiably. “And you are a Frenchman! It’s good to see a fellow countryman, M. Chat! My grandmother hails from Paris, you know.”

“As does my Father,” Adrien admitted, surprised and pleased by the chance encounter, rancour forgotten. “How fortunate we met!”

The young man concurred heartily and introduced himself as Nino with a thrilling disregard for social niceties, as if they were already old friends.

“Have you ever been to a masquerade ball before, M. Chat?” he eventually inquired.

Adrien confessed that he hadn’t, prompting Nino to declare: “Then I shall be your guide!” Before seizing his arm and dragging him ever deeper into what seemed to be a veritable maelstrom of movement.

For his part, Adrien was too surprised to resist. Never in his life had anyone, besides his mother, touched him in so familiar a manner. He should, perhaps, have protested the familiarity, but under cover of darkness, at a _forbidden_ _masquerade ball_ , it barely occurred to him to question the presumption. 

Nino introduced him to his friends, a group his father would have termed _racy_ , and of whom Adrien was silently in awe. The Red Spotted Lady was not among them, but they were lively and certainly did not hesitate to sample all the illicit delights of a ball, merrily leading the young Agreste down the Path of Moral Ruin.

“I have never tried champagne before,” he confessed, after this third glass. “My Father does not believe it is a - a fitting beverage for a young Gentleman.”

Beer was a workman’s drink, champagne a lady’s. Port was the tipple of a Gentleman, M. Gabriel Agreste believed.

Adrien explained this pearl of wisdom to his patient Confidant. It was a laborious process.

“Well then, you may give it to me,” she suggested, when he eventually concluded.

Adrien blinked and endeavoured to focus on his companion.

“You are a woman!” he exclaimed.

She was. 

Shockingly dressed in pantaloons and a cloak, just like a man, with hair cut very short. Her eyes seemed to flash in the lamp light and Adrien was entranced.

“I am,” she agreed, somewhat pugnaciously. “My name is Alix. How do you do?”

She held out her hand to shake his, as if in challenge, as though she were a man, and M. Chat grinned and accepted it.

“All the better for meeting you, Mlle Alix.”

He bowed suavely and brushed his lips daringly over her knuckles, in the French Manner. Or he would have done, had his aim proven true. As it was, Nino wisely chose that moment to intercede.

“You are a little foxed, my friend,” he remarked with a faintly bemused smile, taking care to steer him in another direction.

“ _ No _ !” Adrien replied, outraged. “I am a  _ cat _ . I should have thought that was - that was  _ obvious _ .”

“Indeed it is,” Nino allowed, peaceably.

Adrien permitted himself to be settled, leaning against Nino on a stone bench by a small hedge maze.

“It is a very fine thing, to be a cat,” he confided abruptly. Nino only hummed encouragingly, so he continued. “Just so. I can - I can go  _ anywhere  _ now that I am a cat. And I can do as I like. Father wouldn’t know. I am - I am  _ disguised _ .”

“That you are,” Nino agreed, rather dryly, and it took Adrien a few moments to grasp his meaning, his thoughts dripping slowly, like pouring treacle.

“I am not  _ drunk _ ,” he complained.

“Are you not?”

“Of course not. A gentleman never drinks to - to excess, my father says. I could not be drunk. He would never allow it.”

“Your father is not here.”

“No!” A blinding smile broke across his face. “You are right! I  _ can  _ be drunk. Can I not?” 

His face fell again with such tragic and sudden despondency that Nino rushed to assure him.

“Certainly, you can!”

“Good. I am Chat. I can do as I please. And I am drunk. And you are - you are Nino!”

“That is actually my given name.”

Adrien wasn’t listening. Instead he mused aloud.

“Yours is a  _ very  _ fast set… My father was right. Masquerade balls are  _ terribly  _ improper. I am so glad.”

Nino made a sound unbefitting a gentleman and Adrien grinned, craning his neck to peer up at his faithful sentinel. 

“I like you  _ very  _ much,” he confessed.

It was surely a trick of the lamplight, but his new friend seemed a little flushed.

 

They lapsed into silence for a time, their conversation resting comfortably, rather than stifled by Paternal Disapproval or Youthful Awkwardness. 

They could hear music, but Adrien noted that, away from the main body of dancers, it was quieter and a little darker here. 

He recalled the Whispers in the Dark, and thought quite suddenly of the Red Spotted Lady. What a fine thing it would be to steal away from all the others and converse privately! He was certain she had a very beautiful voice which, he was convinced, must accompany a very fine mind. There had been intelligence in that keen gaze, he knew.

“I saw a Ladybird,” he confessed quite suddenly.

Nino jerked, apparently not expecting further conversation.

“I beg your pardon?”

“A Ladybird.  That is to say, I believe I did. Her dress and mask were red and spotted black, like a ladybird.”

“ _ Oh _ , I see,” Nino replied. “ _ La Coccinelle _ .  We call her the Ladybug here. It’s the American phrase. ‘pon rep, M. Chat, you can’t call a Woman of Character a  _ lady-bird _ .” He lowered his voice, and appeared most uncomfortable. “Didn’t you know? That is what they call a Woman of - ah -  _ Easy Virtue _ .”

Adrien was aghast.

“I did not know that,” he admitted. “I would  _ never  _ say such a thing about  _ anyone _ .”

Nino patted his hand understandingly and Adrien considered himself forgiven. Confidence restored, he pressed on hopefully.

“Do you know who she is, by any chance?”

Nino rolled his eyes, for his own inscrutable reasons, but nodded and obliged Adrien’s curiosity, though rather unsatisfactorily.

“No one knows who she is. Upon my soul, she is a Lady of Mystery. But she must be very fond of masquerade balls, as she never fails to attend one, and always, as I said, as  _ La Coccinelle _ . And all the ladies of my acquaintance agree that her  _ modiste  _ must be all the crack, because her turnout is unerringly exquisite.”

Adrien, who had noticed nothing about her clothes, other than that they were red, made a noise of agreement. Nino smiled knowingly and tapped his knee.

“You will have to attend the next Masquerade, will you not,  _ mon ami _ ? If you hope to set your cap at her.”

Adrien agreed with alacrity and Nino laughed, seeming gratified.

For his part, Adrien treasured hope and the promise of another Masquerade Ball in his heart.

Blissfully forgetting that, had he known of it, his Father would have had a Conniption.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Regency Lingo!
> 
> Breeches - short trousers ending just below the knee.
> 
> The Terror - or The Reign of Terror (1789-1794), the period during the French Revolution in which aristocrats were rounded up and beheaded by guillotine.
> 
> Pantaloons - long trousers. (Lol, I did not understand the distinction between these and breeches. Thank you, fanfic research.)
> 
> Foxed - drunk
> 
> Disguised - drunk
> 
> La coccinelle - French for ladybug
> 
> 'pon rep - polite exclamation of surprise, a bit like "upon my soul!" or "Goodness!"
> 
> A lady-bird - a woman of easy virtue, i.e. sexually promiscuous. Could refer to a kept mistress, a lewd or wanton woman or a prostitute. Also, British English for ladybug.
> 
> Modiste - a fashionable dressmaker
> 
> All the crack - very fashionable
> 
> Set your cap at someone - attempt to attract someone into a courtship and/or marriage
> 
> A Conniption - a fit of rage or hysterics


End file.
